'Yes,' drawled Kombs, 'it is a devil of a shame that such things are
done. But what would you? as we say in France.'
When the journalist had recovered his second wind he pulled himself
together somewhat. 'Would you object to telling me how you know these
particulars about a man you say you have never seen?'
'I rarely talk about these things,' said Kombs with great composure.
'But as the cultivation of the habit of observation may help you in
your profession, and thus in a remote degree benefit me by making
your paper less deadly dull, I will tell you. Your first and second
fingers are smeared with ink, which shows that you write a great deal.
This smeared class embraces two sub-classes, clerks or accountants,
and journalists. Clerks have to be neat in their work. The ink smear
is slight in their case. Your fingers are badly and carelessly
smeared; therefore, you are a journalist. You have an evening paper in
your pocket. Anyone might have any evening paper, but yours is a
Special Edition, which will not be on the streets for half-an-hour
yet. You must have obtained it before you left the office, and to do
this you must be on the staff. A book notice is marked with a blue
pencil. A journalist always despises every article in his own paper
not written by himself; therefore, you wrote the article you have
marked, and doubtless are about to send it to the author of the book
referred to.
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